


Season 1 Episode 8 - Fromage

by PaleGlimmer



Series: Hannibal Smut Companion [8]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Emotional Sex, Episode Related, Hannibal cries the first time they fuck, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Overwhelmed Hannibal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 1, Top Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlimmer/pseuds/PaleGlimmer
Summary: Hannibal looks shocked after surviving the attack in his own studio by serial killer Tobias Budge. Will drives him home. Less tragic than previous episodes sexual shenanigans ensue.BEWARE: some people are mad at bottom!Hannibal. Guess what is this? YES, bottom, weeping, emotionally destroyed Hannibal. Stay mad or enjoy it, see you at the end of it (eventually).





	Season 1 Episode 8 - Fromage

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my project Hannibal Smut Companion: a little piece of smut set in/around each episode. Every TV episode resets events/characters.
> 
> I’m rubbish at tagging, feel free to help. Kudos and comments are all very welcome.

When serial killer Tobias Budge told Hannibal Lecter that he had just killed two agents in his shop, the man felt a taste of lead and rotten leaves blooming at the back of his palate. What followed was a fight for life in Hannibal’s studio, exciting and energizing, and Hannibal had little time to evaluate the depth of his personal feelings. Tobias had been an interesting diversion, had fought valiantly. The taste stayed with him well beyond Tobias’ death, though - bitter and persistent. 

It was still there when Jack Crawford crossed the threshold of his studio with a mourning face, and Hannibal was coming to the conclusion that it could be the taste of something rather uncommon in his life. 

Maybe it was the taste of regret. 

He forced himself to sit with the very real possibility of a dead Will Graham at Tobias’ hands. He had taken that possibility into consideration the day before, when he had sent Will after Tobias, of course. Tobias was a dangerous, sly serial killer, but Will was full of potential that could be unleashed only through the right experiences: this was the perfect chance to push him along his righteous path. Hannibal had fantasized of a victorious, bloody Will Graham, standing tall and proud in front of him, but now that he had to face a possible different result, things didn’t feel so right anymore. There was no beauty to be found in the loss of Will at the hands of a conceited little man. The death of beautiful, unique Will would turn the world into a dull pit of tar inhabited by oinking pigs and vague shadows. Adrenaline was giving way to a mix of distasteful feelings inside Hannibal, something he wasn’t used to. Tobias had no right whatsoever to take Will from him, he was meant to be just a tool for Will’s transformation. He should have suffered a lot more before dying, with the knowledge of why that was happening, of what he had wrongly taken away from Hannibal. How dared he…

A few steps behind Crawford, Will Graham walked into Hannibal’s studio.

The bitter taste in Hannibal’s throat disintegrated, replaced by the soothing aftertaste of relief. He just couldn’t take his eyes off Will, his transformation from potential to reality now closer and brighter, the people surrounding them just an echo of a world who didn’t matter much. He looked at Will walking towards his desk, glorious in his victory, and every physical injury Lecter suffered during the attack turned into glory for his beloved. Looking at him with eyes full of tears, Hannibal just wanted to kneel, his forehead to the ground, the butchered body of Tobias laid at Will’s feet as a deserved but humble tribute. Solace and adoration oozed from Hannibal, with no disguises, no need to hide his true feelings from the low people around them who could never understand.

Actually, Will moved stiffly, still in shock after the fight with Budge, and feeling guilty in the bloody aftermath. The two agents that were his escort had died while he had left them alone in the shop, running outside for non-existent animals in pain, another of his hallucinations. Then Budge had escaped him and went to Hannibal. Had killed another man. Almost killed Hannibal. The fact that Hannibal was only mildly injured and still alive after the encounter with the killer was just a stroke of luck. Will took in Hannibal’s glassy eyes that were following him relentlessly, checking for sign that everything was alright. He went to stood beside him, leaning against his desk as he often did during their meetings, this time with Hannibal sitting in his chair and looking up at him with such a distraught expression on his face that Will couldn’t handle to look directly into his eyes. 

“Mr. Budge said he was questioned by the FBI and he murdered two men. I was worried you were dead.” Hannibal admitted, looking up at Will, distress still evident in his trembling voice.

Will demonstrated his own wounded arm. “You had reason to worry.”

“I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” Will added with a sad half smile. Something remained unsaid, stuck in his throat.

“I got here on my own. But I appreciate the company.“ Hannibal kept looking up at Will, as he could never have enough of his presence.

Will hesitated. He wanted to say more, though he didn’t know exactly what - too much commotion around them and inside of him to corral his thoughts clearly.

“You are hurt, you cannot drive: let me give you a lift home. I’ll be done soon with the reporting…” Will’s voice trailed off, eyes moving from Hannibal’s face to Jack and the officers swarming the room.

“I’m very thankful for your kindness, Will. I’ll wait here for you, we’ll leave together when you’re ready.”

Will moved out of the room, nodding to Jack Crawford, eyes to the ground. There was no urgency now, but the usual bureaucracy to deal with in the following days: interviews, reports, papers to be signed. As soon as he could, Will went back to Hannibal. 

During the short commute from Hannibal’s office to his home the two men were mostly silent, both following their personal train of thoughts. For Will coming out of shock meant dealing with confusing feelings of anger and guilt, and a surging, undeniable need of closeness with Hannibal, a reassurance of his persistence in Will’s life. He needed to hear from him that everything was going to be alright. Hannibal at the same time had to face the fact that his feelings for Will could no longer be reduced to mere curiosity; that destructive actions needed to be circumscribed and limited, because the possible outcome of Will’s death felt no longer like an acceptable turn of fate. 

Will helped Hannibal out of the car and nestled himself under his right shoulder to help him with the steps to the front door. Hannibal limped because of the stab wound to his right thigh but could have managed with no help, of course. But both savored the feeling of the solid weight of the other, the warmth, the excuse to indulge in a hug.

Once inside, in the foyer, Hannibal slowly removed his coat then turned to Will to thank him and greet him goodbye, but something in Will’s body language stopped him. With hunched, tense shoulders, Will was biting his lips, eyes nervously darting around, everywhere but on Hannibal’s face.

“You’re still in shock, Will. It’s understandable. I feel deeply shaken too. Stay for a drink, won’t you?”

“I’m sure you want to rest.”

Hannibal hesitated for a fraction of a second: yes, he wanted to clean his wounds - had refused help at the scene -, take a hot shower and then drop into the peaceful bed that was calling for him from upstairs. Will had observed closely his reaction and gouged the truth: no, he shook his head, he wasn’t going to bother Hannibal further, he was to go now. In spite of the fact that something unsaid was clearly tormenting him, and Hannibal wanted to know what it was. Hannibal resorted to the truth, in hope to assuage Will’s untimely good manners.

“Yes, I want to rest. But I also don’t look forward to being alone… especially when the company I should renounce to is you.” Hannibal didn’t have to lie to evoke the longing in his voice. “Please, Will, keep me company a little longer…”

Will kept shaking his head, looking sideways, avoiding Hannibal’s eyes.

“No, I… no, thanks, but let me help you to your bedroom then… there’s the flight of stairs…” His voice was unfocused as his attitude, his mind evidently lost somewhere else. Maybe re-living the violence of Budge almost overcoming him, again and again, Hannibal thought. He sighted and happily accepted Will’s help again, his shoulder, his strong arm around him, the working of muscles in Will’s taut body against his wounded side - it was better than nothing, the simple physical contact bringing him undeniable pleasure. He would delight in this for a few more minutes and then remember it fondly afterward. 

So up the stairs they went, one arm around shoulders, one arm around waist, both men secretly enjoying this stolen intimacy masked as just friendship, both hiding their pleasure in protracting those moments.

Will didn’t stop at the door of Hannibal’s bedroom: with Hannibal limping by his side, he went all the way to the bed, and helped Hannibal sit on it. Will didn’t hide his curiosity, and while Hannibal was staring at him - wondering what hints he was missing to decode Will’s behavior correctly - he explored the room with inquisitive eyes. 

Hannibal’s bedroom presented a dominant color, a soothing blue-green - surely the color had a proper posh name that was lost on Will -, and was rich and overbearing in the decor as the rest of the house. It was big and in spite of everything - the usual excess in paintings, mirrors, big antlers, small antlers, and so on - Will felt the room had a quieting effect on him. It was the place where Hannibal rested, maybe reading big, old, leathery books written in foreign languages before a restful sleep. A place free from nightmares - Hannibal would keep them at bay with one of his stern looks or maybe no nightmare worth their weight would dare rival with the decor, who knows? This was also the place where Hannibal would make love to somebody… somebody else… oh, how this thought was a lot less uplifting that those that preceded it. Of course that Hannibal would have sex here: where else? In the basement? In the pantry? Will scoffed at the thought and felt abysmally silly. 

Hannibal, from his lower point of observation, was looking up at Will’s stormy eyes. When he had chosen the color of the master bedroom’s walls he couldn’t know that it would perfectly compliment the complexion of Special Agent Will Graham. But it certainly did: it went so well with Will’s eyes - almost the same color albeit less saturated -, his soft chocolate curls, his ivory skin lined with subtle veins in the same tone. Now he saw it like a confirmation, a sign of predestination. Hannibal was sure of it, he just had to convince Will about it. Will who was there, in Hannibal’s bedroom, with Hannibal, of his own volition. It almost seems as most of the work had already been done for him. Hannibal imagined how Will would look, spread on his bed, disheveled, open, wanting, ruined, begging for more. He imagined Will belonging to him, completely, beautiful body and marvelous soul, as it was meant to be. 

Finally Will found the courage put into words the confused thoughts that tormented him, his voice uncertain, eyes searching for something in the dark behind Hannibal.

“I’m sorry Tobias put you in such danger. I feel guilty. What if you hadn’t been so lucky?” There was a beat of silence. Then he added, in a firmer voice: “I wish I just killed him. I should have.”

“You wish you killed Tobias… for me?”

Will nodded. The admission gave Hannibal a thrill that shook him deep down in his murderous soul. 

“But then you’d feel terrible… wouldn’t you, Will?” 

“No, not this time. I think I would feel… righteous.”

This was a revelation to himself. Will stared into Hannibal’s eyes, and looked for judgment. Instead found things that run deep and fathomless, made of thorns and vines and forbidden fruits. He saw devotion, understanding, admiration. He saw the loneliness of looking at the world in a different way than anybody else, so similar to his own. 

Hannibal looked up and saw… Will. Unique, beautiful Will, standing there, in front of him, in his bedroom. Will gazing into his eyes, all flushed cheeks, emotional after his confession. So real and alive, a step closer to the victorious predator Hannibal knew he was meant to be. 

Will raised a hand and cupped Hannibal’s face. Hannibal closed his eyes and leaned into the gentle touch, blood singing through his veins. When he opened them again, Will’s eyes were glued to his parted lips. Hannibal tilted his head up a little more, raising a hand to pull Will closer by the waist. And Will took Hannibal’s face with both hands and leaned his lips against Hannibal’s. For a little while it wasn’t even a kiss, just skin against skin, the mixing of breaths, a soul getting closer to another without the restrains of a physical form, heartbeats turning into the measure of time. Then it was a tender kiss, curious and reverent at the same time. Then, suddenly it stopped.

Will had interrupted the kiss and was looking tentatively at Hannibal. 

“Is this alright? Are you okay… with this?”

What about ruining everything on a whim? That scared him. Will had learned to rely on Hannibal, too quickly after a lifetime of wariness maybe, to trust his view of the world and his opinion about Will himself - Hannibal had never shown pity, always hinting at the possibility of greatness ahead. A bright future always vaguely depicted with flowery language, double meanings, terrible puns - Hannibal had no fear to be unapologetically himself, different from anybody else Will had ever met and he was lighting the way for him, through a dark night that he didn’t want to cross alone. 

Hannibal said nothing, just grabbed Will by the trim waist again, pulling him closer, shifting back on the bed making Will straddle him. This time he initiated the kiss, hungry for Will’s mouth, slowly laying back on the bed and pulling Will with him. Hannibal run his fingers through Will’s hair - finding it as soft as silk as he imagined - while sliding his wet tongue along Will’s lips, grazing his jaw, teasing him with delicate bites on his throat. Hannibal savored the taste of Will’s skin on his tongue, an experience he had approximated in his imagination based on Will’s smell, but reality was much more rewarding than imagination - layered, intense, fulfilling in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The reality of Will in his arms was overwhelming, slowly gripping his insides and leaving him breathless.

Will adjusted his weight over Hannibal - mindful of his injuries - and let Hannibal’s ravenous mouth captivate him. Mesmerized, Will stroke a thumb slowly over Hannibal’s bottom lips, then pushed it inside his mouth. Hannibal closed his eyes and sucked on it, teasing it with his tongue, pushing it against his palate then letting it slide slowly out of his mouth, while Will urgently replaced the finger with his own tongue. The kissing derailed into licking, grazing, biting, tongue fucking, while hands started to explore bodies still covered in too much clothing and sighs filled the room. 

Somehow they both wiggled out of their shirts, and had more skin at hands to satisfied the need for closeness. Will admired Hannibal’s chest, strong and surprisingly hairy (had he imagined Hannibal’s chest before? Well, maybe, from time to time, so what?), let his hands run over his wide shoulders, feeling the muscles of the arms, stroking down to the big deft hands. The hits Hannibal had suffered at Budge’s hands were painful black and blue marks on his body that reminded both how lucky they had been. Will wanted to kiss and lick and bite every inch of skin of Hannibal. It felt primal, a need that guided his every motion, a celebration of the life that flowed in their veins. Hannibal, on the other hand, was emotionally compromised: the more Will got wanting and passionate and unrestrained, the more he felt unmoored for the risk he had taken on Will’s life. How could he ever gamble on the flesh and blood of this luminous creature? So full of divine love, a love that he wanted so bad but was not so sure to deserve anymore. 

Will stroked Hannibal’s hard dick with the heel of his hand, through the trousers, looking at Hannibal’s face with a questioning look in his eyes, biting his lower lip in anticipation. There was only one possible answer: Hannibal nodded in silence, fearing his voice would crack, and moved his hands to undo Will’s belt. Once they were both naked, the kisses became deeper and slower, cocks rocking against each others, leaking and throbbing against their bellies, hands grabbing and pulling hair, moving to caress every inch of warm skin. 

Hannibal slowly untangled himself from Will, rummaged in the nightstand until he found a small black bottle with a pump and throw it on the bed, among the pillows. Then he had Will sit with the back against the headboard, straddled him, cupped his face in his hands and got back to kissing him tenderly, a knot of emotions welling inside of him, his heartbeat deafening and accelerated in his ears. Hannibal spread lube from the bottle on his hands and gently grabbed his and Will’s cock together, stroking them in unison, eliciting deep gasps from Will. Their cocks felt thick, warm and heavy in his hand, both extensively leaking, making a mess on their bellies. While pleasuring both at the same time Hannibal reveled in admiring Will’s face, contorting in pleasure in a way that looked almost like pain, eyes shut, head leaning back against the headboard exposing more of his pale trembling throat. 

Will was already lost in a haze of pleasure trickling down into every single cell of his body but he knew there was more to be had, he needed more of Hannibal, more of the two of them together. He spread lube on his fingers, with one hand held Hannibal tighter against his chest and with the other found the crack of Hannibal’s ass. Hannibal’s movements stuttered for a second then picked back up, just a little wilder then before, his mouth sucking and biting on Will’s neck, his breathing almost out of control. Will circled Hannibal’s rim with a finger then gently pushed it inside and back, at first slowly then following the rhythm of Hannibal’s hand. His insides felt so hot and velvety and ready, Hannibal trembled and moaned, and Will had to refrain from biting his shoulder hard enough to break skin: he just wanted to be one with Hannibal, inside of him, in any way possible and urgently. 

“Please, stop.” Will’s voice was a murmur against Hannibal’s lips. “Let me.” He search for permission into Hannibal’s disheveled face. “Let me,” he said again, tenderly grazing at his lips.

“Everything. Everything you want,” Hannibal answered in a whisper.

Will spread more lube on his cock then grabbed it at its base, while steading Hannibal with the other hand on his hip. Still facing Will and keeping eye contact, Hannibal moved to align his ass to Will’s cock, and slowly sit on it, letting Will slip inside of him inch by inch. Will bit hard his lower lip and his lashes fluttered as he tried to control his breathing, to slow down his impatient heart - Hannibal’s sleek warmth felt like being dipped into the sun, a heat that devoured him whole, body and soul - but breath caught in his throat, and he feared Hannibal would undo him too quickly. He truly wanted to give him pleasure first, to show him everything he felt about him, about them together. 

The tall wave of shared pleasure and the boundless closeness with Will was too much for Hannibal though: the emotions that had pushed at his gates all day long overwhelmed him and tears overflowed from his eyes, running in burning streaks down his cheeks. He stifled his sobs burying his face against Will’s neck, but couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Will was changing him, had changed him already. This was his becoming. 

Will sighed and held Hannibal tighter. He pushed his heels in the mattress for purchase to slowly rock his hips against him, fucking into him with all the tenderness he could muster while caressing every piece of skin he could reach, kissing his wet face, licking his tears away. In between kisses he whispered softly to Hannibal how good he was, how utterly wonderful and mind-bending it felt to sink into him, again and again, so deep and warm and open, just for him. Hannibal too felt the need to pour his soul into Will’s ear, but used the language of his childhood, a tongue of fairytale and lost love that he hadn’t spoken in decades, not even in his mind. He compared Will to Persephone and the spring reborn in her presence every year for all eternity, he told him of the beauty of death, and how many times they would both have to die and rise again before they could become truly one, like planets in collision course that betrayed by gravity and physics and the rules of the universe just cannot escape each other, but have to wait to see how their inevitable crash will reconfigure both. 

Will found an angle for his thrusts that made Hannibal’s breath stutter so persevered in it to fuck harder and faster into him, while exchanging sloppy kisses and lazy bites. When Will took Hannibal’s thick cock in his hand to stroke it gently, Hannibal put one hand over his, guiding him in how he wanted to be touched, with a tighter grip in time with Will’s thrusts. The blood in both their bodies was reaching boiling point, they felt the orgasm looming over them as if they were one, bodies and souls connected and reactive in unison. They both did come soon after, one orgasm igniting the other’s, pleasure tensing every muscle in their bodies, then collapsing in a heap of sweaty limbs. They remained entangled for a while, physically and emotionally drained and sated, mind finally quieted.

After some time Will moved from Hannibal’s embrace to lay belly up by his side, his eyes staring at something on the shadowy ceiling. 

“Should I be going, now?” He asked with coarse voice.

“I do not want you to. Do you really want to leave, Will?”

“What’s going on here, with us? Is this a one-off thing?”

Hannibal sounded resigned. “Not to be rude, but how did you ever manage to convince Jack Crawford you are an empath, Will?”

Will grinned. “It’s different when it’s about myself. I’m not sure I understand what you see in me.”

“I admit that I know you better than you know me, this is why you doubt it, and it’s my fault. I’ve not been entirely forthcoming with you.”

“And why would that be, Dr Lecter?”

How much truth should Hannibal account for? 

“Because I wanted to be in control. Because the only answer I want to hear from you is _yes_.” 

They both fell silent again, thinking about a reality where there was an _us_ to take care of. A possible reality. Then Will spoke again, in his matter-of-fact voice.

“I’m shit at relationships.”

“I’ve never been interested in one before now. We’ll learn together.”

Will sighted and pursed his lips in a frown, as if contemplating something terrible. “Do you intend to keep plying me with earth-shattering orgasms and mouth-watering meals?”

“Would you be amenable to this frightful perspective?”

Will just smiled and hummed, closing his eyes.

“It’s a plan, then.” Hannibal confirmed. He turned toward Will, and pulled him back into his arms, lacing their fingers together, hands resting on Will’s chest, right above his beating heart. 

“Also, I think you’re running a low grade fever, Will,” Hannibal murmured against Will’s nape, punctuating words with kisses. “Maybe there’s more to your health issues than we have surmised until now. Let me look into it.”

“See, already adding points to your plan… but alright...” 

_This doesn’t change where I need to take you_ , Hannibal thought. 

”…take care of me, Hannibal,” Will said with a soft voice, making himself smaller so to fit better into Hannibal’s hold.

_But I will take particularly good care in how I get you there._

**Author's Note:**

> By the time the Smut Companion got to Episode 8 I already had all kinds of horrible things happen to our Murder Husbands - to Will, actually, poor thing. So this time I went for something a little bit softer, hoping in a smitten Hannibal looking for less cruel ways to get Will to his Becoming.


End file.
